


Tailors of Tirion.

by hennethgalad



Category: The Silmarillion. J.R.R.Tolkien.
Genre: Gen, fabulous outfits. Tirion.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-19 01:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14863689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/pseuds/hennethgalad
Summary: Heroes ii. (2 of 3.) for the SWG "Competition" prompt. (part of Laurelöt)On his first day in Tirion, Glorfindel chooses at the tailors.





	Tailors of Tirion.

Tailors of Tirion.

 

 

 

 

The house of the tailor was halfway up the hill, on the broad square where people gathered. There were spreading trees, busy with birds, bright with flowers, under which were many tables, and the laughing crowds swirled about the square like colourful fish. Erestor led Glorfindel to a white building with richly embroidered banners rippling slowly in the soft breeze. A sharp-eyed Noldor swooped towards them as they stepped into the coolness of the hall.

Glorfindel looked up at the high ceiling, painted like the sky outside, as though the pillars led up only into air. There were high windows around a balcony upheld by the painted pillars, which were black at the base, brightening into purples, blues and greens, turning yellow at the level of the balcony, and fading to orange and deep red near the high ceiling. The effect was striking, Glorfindel thought of seashells, yet the pillars were brighter, brighter than the sky, as bright as the flowers and rich fruits of Yavanna, remade in paint and dye by the skills of the Noldor. His own mother had never dyed her cloth, it was not the custom of the Vanyar, save only those pale greens and browns that could be rendered without the need for bubbling vats which fouled the air and water.

 

But the results of such labours were pleasing to the eye, the balcony was filled with colourful costumes, hanging like unfinished paintings in the spaces between windows, or decorating the many Elves who sat at the tables on the balcony, talking and listening to the musicians in the corner.

In the centre of the balcony, opposite the door, a great white staircase swept down, pausing part way, spreading into a small balcony which curved out into the hall, where smaller pillars, hung with garlands of fresh flowers, held up the stair. Beneath the balcony were wide alcoves, some with windows and workbenches, others darker, filled with rolls and bolts of cloth of every imaginable colour, and many that Glorfindel had never seen. And each fabric was embroidered, or patterned, or textured, or hemmed with sparkling gems, gold and silver thread, and many many pearls.

 

Glorfindel found his eyes bewildered, he glanced up at the stairs, white against the storm of colour, and saw an Elf begin to descend, while another climbed. Both were dressed in layers of bright, vivid colours, at the top of the stairs a Noldor clad ingreen and orange stepped gracefully down, his head held high, his eyes gazing straight ahead of him, while around the room people turned to look. At the foot, a handsome Elf in darkest puple and pale violet, heavy with silver and pearls, glanced up, a half smile curling his dark lips. Glorfindel watched, the hall watched; the Elves met at the balcony, nodded slowly to each other, and smoothly continued on their way. As they reached the crowds, there was a lessening of tension, as though a performance had ended. Glorfindel felt he should applaud, but he could not see why. Then it came to him where he was, it was a kind of theatre, the balcony was the stage, and the art on display was the clothing, not the acting. He turned to share the joke with Erestor, but found him still as stone, gazing up at the handsome Elf in purple. Glorfindel looked up at the perfect profile, and a glimmer of hope came to him. If he could divert the desire of Erestor onto this dark-haired stranger, he himself could retain the friendship of Erestor without feeling guilty for breaking his heart.

 

Erestor turned to him with round eyes.

"That is Hyalmar, the great singer ! His voice is so deep that the Teleri venerate him, they say he has the very voice of the sea."

Glorfindel smiled "I look forwards to hearing him sing."

The sharp-eyed Elf smiled broadly at them both and bowed with the polish of the courtier.

"My lord Erestor ! Welcome !"

Erestor bowed and gestured to the Elf

"Glorfindel, this is Ilwaren, the greatest tailor of the Noldor, and, some say, the greatest in all Elvendom." he paused and looked down at himself "Indeed, this very robe is his handiwork."

 

Glorfindel admired the fine workmanship, the robe was deep red, like plums, or wine, with elaborate swirling embroidery in gold thread around the hem and sleeves. It fitted smoothly against the slim Erestor, displaying his form to advantage.

"Your skill is marvellous, Ilwaren, it is my honour to meet you. Blessings of the Valar upon you."

"And upon you, my lord. And shall we have the honour of dressing you, sir, as well as the honour of making your acquaintance ?"

Erestor laughed then "He needs no decoration, does he, Ilwaren ? But he has been summoned to dine with the High King, and it is his first day in Tirion."

Ilwaren smiled warmly "His first day ! How lovely ! You make me feel old, young Erestor, for I saw Tirion rise from the ground, when this was an empty hill. And now the children's children of the trees we planted flourish in the square, and the children’s children of those who built these Halls now sing within." He sighed happily " 'ah, the shining of the Trees and the singing of the leaves'... Yet we flourish as we can, each in our way. Let me look at you, golden one."

 

Ilwaren stepped back, his sharp eyes seemed to see through Glorfindel, into the heart of him, as though the tailor could see his very spirit. Glorfindel had heard of those who could, in part, or at times, but few could see all, at will, as a Maia or a Vala would. But Ilwaren was frowning. Erestor began to smile, with closed lips and hooded eyes. Ilwaren was silent, he seemed lost in thought, as though in the grip of a vision. Finally he blinked and took a swift breath.

"Needs no decoration... Indeed, indeed. He could wear anything with that colouring, anything at all. We would customarily advise the colours of the lord’s own house, or that of his lord, for formal attendance upon Ingwë. But his story is known to me." He smiled at the surprise of Glorfindel "This city is smaller than you might suppose, young athlete, and I too have seen you race, long ago, though it will be long indeed before I forget such beautiful hair."

Glorfindel found himself with nothing to say, so he bowed at the thoughtful Elf. Erestor was smiling proudly, and Ilwaren turned to him with a smile, beckoning to an Elf behind him, who came forwards bearing a tray with goblets and a flagon on which cooling water had formed a mist, which flowed into small drops as they watched. Iwaren poured the honey coloured wine and handed them goblets.

"Well, my lord Erestor, do you examine my wares, while I see to the measurements of your friend ?"

Erestor thanked Ilwaren, then smiled at them both and strolled away into the nearest alcove. Ilwaren gestured to Glorfindel and led him into another alcove, empty but for a couch, a tall mirror and a rack for hanging garments. Ilwaren drew the thick curtains closed across the alcove and began to undress Glorfindel. Glorfindel looked into the sharp, clever eyes and smiled with half his mouth. Ilwaren was undoubtedly accustomed to such things, but he himself... He thought of Erestor, and then of Melairë, and began to blush.

 

Ilwaren laughed delightedly, moving with the precision of a dancer to measure the limbs and body of Glorfindel. He knelt before him to measure his leg, and Glorfindel, in embarrassment, blurted out his question.

"May I ask, do you know the singer, Hyalmar ?"

Ilwaren stopped, then sat back on his heels, looking up with an expressionless face.

"Of course sir, did you wish to meet him ?" The voice of the tailor was without emotion. Glorfindel felt the mask, where before had been warmth. He hesitated, then smiled as openly as he could.

"Erestor admires him. It would please him to have you introduce them." He could feel himself blushing again. Ilwaren did not move, the sharp eyes seemed to pierce through Glorfindel, he felt more naked than he had before the Seat of Manwë. Ilwaren narrowed his eyes.

"The love he feels for you is not returned."

Glorfindel swallowed, would all his thoughts be open to all Tirion ? But Ilwaren smiled knowingly.

"Leave it to me, sir, I shall invite them both to dine with me, while you are away with the great ones."

"I... Thankyou, Ilwaren, you are very kind, and very perceptive. How swiftly you have seen through me. But why such kindness to a stranger ?"

Ilwaren stood up, and looked into the distance, remembering a race... After a time he sighed and seemed to shake himself, though he moved very little.

"It was your face as you ran, oh, not your beauty, indeed there are many who are more lovely than you. No, nor your golden hair ! No. It was your face. The others, all others, everyone I have ever seen run, and I have seen many, they were running to win, to prove themselves, to be the fastest." he paused and smiled reminiscently, "But you, my dear, you were running towards something. I swear, by the grace of Varda, everyone who saw you turned to look, for the joy in your eyes had all believing that some wondrous sight, or beloved person awaited you at the end of the race." He smiled again; his eyes returned to the present, he looked up at Glorfindel, who felt very young, and very aware that he was naked. "And here you are, and Ingwë has summoned you. Truly, Glorfindel, I hope you reach your vision."

Glorfindel thought of the great darkness of his vision, and drew his breath in sharply. For though the words of the tailor had been spoken in good will, it was not a vision to inspire joy. He looked with widened eyes at Ilwaren. But Ilwaren put out a hand and gripped him by the arm.

"What is it ? What words of ill omen have I uttered ?"

Glorfindel frowned, then deliberately smoothed his brow. The mask, he thought, the mask is to smooth away the frowns, and the laughter...

"It is only... I too have seen the great darkness."

Ilwaren stepped back half a pace, and looked curiously at Glorfindel.

"You ? Even you ? Yet the Valar and the Maiar deny knowledge of this vision. All Tirion is filled with speculation. You will meet many others who have seen it, but to none has been revealed the cause, nor the time. It may be, as some suppose, that the time of the Elves, the time of Arda, is at an end, and we shall all return to Eru, in whatever form we may then take. But others say it is the sight of that which lies beyond the stars, beyond the Walls of the World, the Void itself." he smiled and gave a short breath of laughter "Others say that both these interpretations are the same thing, and the darkness is our own ignorance of the true nature of Eru."

He stopped then, and looked at Glorfindel, naked and unguarded, summoned before Ingwë on his first day as an adult. "Who are you, Glorfindel ? What will you become ?"

Glorfindel thought of the darkness all around the world, the dark words of Ilwaren seemed to bring it closer, through the light of the Trees, reaching cold fingers across the emptiness to clutch at him. He shivered. Ilwaren clapped his hands together.

"Forgive me, sir, I am so used to the unclothed, I forget how cool it is in here. Let me fetch this robe." With a slight flourish, he held out a robe and slid it over Glorfindel. "This way sir, you must select your cloth. Tell me, what is your favourite colour ?"

Glorfindel was nonplussed by the question. It had never arisen. There had never been anything to choose by colour, apart from fruits. Ilwaren smiled at his hesitation.

"Well then, young athlete, what do you like ?"

Glorfindel thought of the city, the snows of Taniquetil, the great halls, the bright clothes, the colours of the houses, the silvery robe he was wearing, but none spoke to him as the beauty of the farm, and the woods and meadows of his youth.

"I love the things that grow." he said finally "The flowers and trees, the grasses and reeds, and the moss by the stream."

Ilwaren smiled kindly.

"Ah, green then, I think I have just the thing. This way sir."

 

Glorfindel listened as Erestor and Ilwaren debated how to dress him, paying no heed to him, but earnestly discussing fabrics, house colours, and the customs of the three kindreds. The tensions within the Noldor, the strife between the sons of Finwë, had reached even the farm, and colours had begun to take on a significance that troubled him. He had little desire to become entangled in the thorns of conflicting loyalty. 

  He looked around the hall, the sound of a favourite song drifted down from the balcony, where a few people had begun to sing with the music. He smiled, letting his eyes wander along the alcoves, thinking about the absurdity of Elves trying to copy the true colours of the life of Yavanna, the winds of Manwë or the stone of Aulë. He thought of the farmhouse, where every line of growth on every plank of the walls was known to him, and every glittering speck in the smooth grey flagstones of the floor. There was nothing decorative in the house, save only the amateur portraits his mother and father had painted of each other, and of their children. Only the living plants that filled every corner and window had real colour, and they could not be imitated. His eyes fell on a darker alcove in the corner, filled entirely with white cloth. He knew that the Teleri favoured white, and strolled across the hall to see. There was a faint glimmer from the white cloth, and as he drew closer he saw that there were many shades of white, and many textures of cloth, and embroidery, and more pearls, and diamonds. At the workbench, an Elf was cutting cloth, her movements as precise as those of Ilwaren, and more delicate. Glorfindel smiled as she glanced up.

"Why do the Teleri have everything white ?" he asked her.

She paused and stood up straight, blade in hand.

"You have never seen Alqualondë ?"

Glorfindel found himself blushing again.

"Alas, it is my first day in Tirion. I have seen nothing. But it is true that I could have seen Alqualondë should I have wished it. But I do not wish... I fear the dark, and have yet to find the courage to confront it."

"Oh, but you must ! For the darkness is filled with stars ! Indeed, once you have seen the true Glory of Varda, you will find the Light as but a canopy of leaves, concealing the immensity beyond. Go to the sea, hear the voice of Ulmo, and watch the train of Varda drift across the vastness of the sky !"

Glorfindel looked at her in astonishment, not only a tailor but a poet, he thought, and turned away to look at the cloth. In the dimness of the alcove, the glimmer was brighter.

"The Light..." he said thoughtfully, "Does the Light of the Trees conceal the true colour of this cloth ?"

She looked at him with her head tilted to one side.

"You are ignorant, but not unintelligent. Yes, this cloth is dyed with crushed seashells, mountain moss and rare rocks ground into powder. Are you interested in dyeing ? I fear I cannot tell you more, these potions they brew are foul, and do not interest me, though I delight in the magic they work. The shame is mine. But there are those here who could tell you more."

"No, it is not potions that interest me, it is only that I have never seen this cloth by starlight. Nor anything else. Tell me of the magic, if it please you."

She looked over his shoulder, he turned, Erestor and Ilwaren were there.

"In the starlight, the cloth glows, it gleams with the colours of pearls and seashells, and each bolt of cloth, each fathom of each bolt, is a different shade, and the colours of the piers and halls of Alqualondë are a glimmer of starlight on the snows of Oiolossë. You must see them." She finished simply, and shrugged. "White..." she muttered, incredulously.

Glorfindel turned to Erestor.

"This is the colour I like. It will help me face my fear. I will wish to see it in the starlight. I will run towards the sea, instead of away from my fear." He looked at Ilwaren, who put a hand to his heart and bowed. Glorfindel felt a strange pride, as though he had won praise from his father. Erestor laughed.

"After all that talking we did !" he said to Ilwaren "We might as well have saved our breath for singing."

"Never mind, sir, while Glorfindel is dining at the house of Curumo, you shall dine with me, and we shall find someone charming to sing with."

Erestor smiled at the tailor. "Thankyou my friend ! It will be my pleasure." he turned to Glorfindel "I shall await you here."

Glorfindel looked thoughtfully at Ilwaren.

"Thankyou." he said "Your skill with people is as great as your skill with cloth. And your wisdom is as penetrating as your perception. I am honoured to meet you."

Ilwaren smiled "Ah, such charm ! You will have Tirion flocking to your door, and I shall be boasting to everyone that I met you on your very first day here."

 

 

 


End file.
